Blair woke up and could hear the shower running. It was only 5:30 a.m., and Todd was up. She took his shirt from the day before, and put it around her, like a robe, and went into the bathroom.
He was inside the shower, sitting in the corner of the tub, and letting the water run over him. His face was in his hands, and he didn't hear her come in. She said, softly, "Todd?"
He didn't respond, he just sat, in the water's stream, the steam rising around him. She repeated herself, "Todd?"
When he didn't answer her a second time, a surge of panic went through her. She tore his shirt off her, and heard a button or two spin and hit the ground, and she went into the shower. Crouching down, she put her arms around him. She could feel him shaking, but he was aware of her. He said, "Blair? I feel . . . alone with this."
"No, no you're not. I'm with you."
"I'm alone, though. Just alone. No one else . . . knows what I do."
She understood. She said, "No one can hold it, there, in their minds, but you. It's only yours to remember. But alone? You don't have to be. You can tell me all of it."
"I'll still be alone. I went through it alone. No one knows how it was. No one. I didn't even remember it until now."
She turned the water temperature up and said, "And now, you do."
He shook his head. She was holding him, and his trembling was violent enough to frighten her. She told herself that even if the water was coming out ice streams onto them, she was not letting go. "Yeah," he answered her, "now I do. That sick fuck."
Blair was hoping that it would end soon. Since his return, she'd had to hold him this way too many times, and hear him discover more and more of his haunting past. "I'm sorry. My love, I'm here. You're not alone, not really. I'm just here, and going to be."
She felt him relax a little as she held him to her, and saw him reach out and shut the water, which she was grateful for since it was cooling. She was concerned about him physically as well as emotionally. He stood up. His face was tired, and she reached for a towel and toweled off his hair and shoulders. He took it from her and finished drying off. She watched him, as she wrapped herself back in his shirt, and wiped herself with a towel, wrapping it about her head.
He was beautiful.
No matter what he was feeling, what he was doing or how much he tried to hide it, he was the most physically perfect man she had ever seen. She said, "Come on, get on the bed. Lie down on your stomach." She straddled him and started massaging his back muscles and she heard him sigh. She said, "Good?"
"Yeah. Great."
"It's going to be all good, Todd. You have to know that. You're healing. Look at how you handled these new memories, compared to how you were in Greece? You're so strong, and I'm not afraid to tell you that I totally worship you." Her voice was airy, dreamlike, and he lay there under her touch, wanting her so much again. When he tried, he couldn't remember a time he didn't want her more than water, or oxygen.
He closed his eyes. Then he said, "Good. You worship me? Get me some food, will ya?"
She playfully slapped his back end. "Oh, you!"
She went to the phone, and as she ordered their breakfast, she saw him turn over and stare across the room at the box. Hanging up she said, "All your favorites, on their way."
She got on the bed and snuggled close to him. He said, "The box. We have to, sooner or later."
"Yeah, I guess we do. Whenever you want. Or we can just toss it out that window there, off the balcony."
"Hmf, how did you know I was thinking that? We might hit someone, though."
"I sort of dread opening it."
"I know. You don't have to be involved. I can do it myself."
She marveled at his comment, since he had just sorrowfully told her he was alone with everything and she assured him she'd be there. "No, I want to be there for you. Whenever you're ready."
He got up, and getting the box, he hauled it over to the bed, and placed it down. They both stared at it, as if it might open itself and reveal more horrors. He said, "What are we waiting for?"
She said, "A key? It's got a lock."
He looked closer, and saw the rusted old padlock that held the box closed. "Well, there is a little problem here, then."
"Hey, wait," she said, going to her bag. She pulled out a hairpin, and brought it over. "I never use these and God knows why I even have them but, let's try it. Can't hurt?"
After fiddling with the little padlock and the pin for a few minutes, the lock snapped open. He removed it, and paused before opening the box. She put her hand on his shoulder. "There can't be anything inside that box that's worse than what you've already experienced, Todd."
He nodded. He opened the box and they both peered inside.
***
"Jack? Sam? You're going to be late for school, both of you! Get down here and eat." Dorian called. Neither one appeared. Addie, also in the foyer, called up to them again.
Jack came first, Sam came behind. "We're coming, Grandma, Aunt Dorian," Jack said. They traipsed into the kitchen and sat at the table.
Dorian said, "Eat your fruit, Sam."
Sam looked at Jack, and then pushed his fruit away.
"Sam?" Dorian said.
"Sam?" Sam said.
"Not this again, young man," She said, becoming agitated.
"Not this again, young man," he repeated.
Addie said, "Sam, please stop."
He did, and ate his cereal. Addie said, "Jack, how was your date?"
"It was nice. She's a really good person. We had a great time. Good listener, too. Easy to talk to."
Sam said, "Jack's in lo---ove."
"Squirt, I'm warning you," Jack retaliated.
Dorian said, "Sam, clear your plate."
He said, "Sam, clear your plate."
Dorian said, "All right I've had enough! This has to stop!"
Sam said, "All right, I've had enough . . ."
Addie interrupted, "Sam, stop!"
He did. He looked at Jack, who said, "Yeah, you little runt, cut that out."
Sam winked and looked back to the Cramer women. Addie said, "What's the matter with you, Sam Manning?"
Sam said, "Nothing. Gotta go to school now, Grandma." He left his plate.
Addie said, "Sam, your plate."
He said, "Okay," and took the plate, bringing it to the sink.
Dorian said, "Jack, you'll need a jacket."
He picked up his bookbag and ignored her, saying, "Bye, have a nice day! Come on Sam!" and the two of them were out the door.
Dorian, exasperated, turned to Addie. "I suppose I'm not to know what that is about?"
***
"Oh my God, Todd, it's you, in the newspaper," she started. Clippings were on the top of the pile of items inside the box. She picked up the small stack of newspaper cuttings. Her eyes were brimming. She said, "This was his, and . . ."
"And I'm in it. Like he cared about me. Can't be."
She looked through the small, faded excerpts of Todd's life. As a young pre-teen, there were clippings from local football leagues, and he would be in team shots. As a teenager, he was front page news: larger photos, longer articles, and Todd, handsome and youthful, with a football under his arm, or in action shots. In one photo, he was on a knee, football perched, and his eyes were much the same. Most would judge it as competitive spirit, and the drive of aggression. She could see anger and deep pain in them, and now, with everything she'd learned, she knew precisely why. She handed them to him, and he took them, and put them to the side, not even looking at them.
She said, "Jack would like to see those, Todd."
"He would. Sam, too. Even Starr."
"It's confusing, but...you meant something to him."
"I meant something to him, all right. I meant something to Leona, too. People need people for different reasons, Blair. It's not always in a way we can even imagine."
Under the clippings were other items. Among other things there were more photos, jewelry, a receipt book, a small record book, rolls of coins, and a colt .45.
He said, "Oh, God," and picked up a photo of Bitsy, much younger, with a boy standing in front of her, wrapped in her arms. "It's Momma, and it's me."
Blair took it from him, "Oh, Todd. You were so cute." Inside her, she recognized an expression on his little face that was something that she had never thought would have any other meaning to her. It was "pathetic." Fighting back tears, she handed it back to him, and saw him place it on the stack of archived clips.
He picked up the stack of photographs, and looked through them, stopping a few times to study certain ones. One in particular had him standing with a small dog. He handed the pile to her, with that picture on top. She said, "You had a dog?"
He said, "Yeah, I think you knew that, didn't you? I was five when I got the puppy." She was afraid to ask him about the dog, but he offered. "He ran away, or at least he told us that. Bastard killed it. I know he did. He'd grabbed that .45 one afternoon, when he didn't get his way with Momma, and went out in the back."
She wanted to burst out in tears, but she stayed as steadfast as she could. She rested her chin on his shoulder, and looked at him. "You okay?"
"Yep," he said, taking the gun in his hand, and checking to see if it was loaded. When he was assured that the chamber was empty, he said, "Gee, I'd forgotten he had this. His pride and joy, antique." He placed it on the bed next to him.
A small envelope with flowers on the edges was next. It looked fragile, and he handed it to Blair. She opened it, and noticed it was either very faintly perfumed or she was imagining it to be so. It was a letter, addressed to Victor Lord, Sr. She said, "Todd, it's a letter. To your biological father, Victor. It's stamped and everything, but it was never sent."
He closed his eyes. "I remembered that, just now, when you said that. He found her bringing a letter to the mailbox, and stopped her. They fought. He beat her . . . bad."
She swallowed, and read, "Dear Victor, I can't begin to tell you the joy that my baby, Todd, has brought to my life. He is the most precious gift and the most sweetest child in the world. Every time I hold him I am reminded of how lucky I am that you chose us to give him to. I promised to love him and be his mother, for ever, and I have done so. But Victor, I need your help." Blair stopped, her voice was catching. Todd wiped under one eye with his thumb. Blair said, "Do you want me to go on?"
"Yeah, go on."
She read, "Peter is an angry man, and he has begun to hurt Todd in ways that I can't fight any longer. Please, I am so afraid. He tells me that if I speak up, he will shoot Todd in front of me, and then kill me, too, and I believe him." Blair was sobbing, and continued through her tears. Todd was steel, his eyes angry and hurt. She continued, "Please, come here, and help your son. I know he is not yours, anymore, but you did create him, and you must have wanted him to go to us to be loved, not hurt. Please, if you can, come and help us get away from this man, before it is too late."
Blair stopped, and in her attempt to hold in her tears, she whimpered. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and pulled her to him. She said, "Oh, Todd," through her tears.
He said, "I remember this. It was a weekend. He beat her and then he told me she went away for a few days."
"Do you think he . . . had her right downstairs the whole time?" Blair asked.
"I'm pretty sure of it, now. I guess. I don't know."
"Todd, my God. Bitsy loved you so much."
"I know. I loved her, too. The letter never got mailed. But you know what, Victor wouldn't have done anything about it. You know that as well as I do." He put his first finger and thumb against each of his eyes, and wiped the tears. He breathed out. "I'm all right." She saw him finger the cameo, and said, "This was Momma's, too. This, I'm not so sure of." It was the receipt book. He opened it, and saw an accounting of funds being filtered into Peter's account. It was a total of two million dollars before it stopped, right before Todd's 25th birthday. "Oh, this. The money he took from me, when I was a kid. Here's a record of it."
Blair took the receipt book from him, and closed it. "You knew that. We'll keep this for record's sake."
After poking around through a few more things, he found the black record book, and leafing through it, he said, "This is it." He dropped his hands to his lap, and looked to the ceiling.
She said, "What is it?"
"A list. Names. People who donated money to The Messenger. We found it, Blair. This has got to be the answer."
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Your comments are 'payment' for the work of the authors. Our writers like to hear your feedback. Please leave a comment when you read.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Provide us with feedback, but be courteous in your comments and criticism. Thanks!